


'Twas the Night Before Christmas

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Anal Sex, Christmas Eve, Crack, Daddy Kink, Deliberate Badfic, Evil Santa, I Blame the Steter Network Chatzy, I swear this is crack and only crack, M/M, Monster of the Week, Parody, Rhymes, Stiles is Legal, evil reindeer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, but there was a dildo vibrating. The fishnet stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Dickens would soon be there. The people were all nestled snug in there bed, while visions of pole dancers and sex masters danced in their heads.</p><p>-</p><p>Or, the Christmas classic redone in a terrible parody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Twas the Night Before Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [nezstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/gifts), [Malapropian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malapropian/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [xTurtlexArmageddonx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTurtlexArmageddonx/gifts), [killjoywhatsername](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoywhatsername/gifts).



> So much crack. So much. This is for the awesome people over at the Steter Network Chatzy, those little enablers. 
> 
> This fic contains: so much crack, daddy kink, sex, evil deer, an evil Santa, dismemberment, and just so much weird shit. I hope you enjoy.

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, but there was a dildo vibrating. The fishnet stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Dickens would soon be there. The people were all nestled snug in there bed, while visions of pole dancers and sex masters danced in their heads.

And Daddy Peter, with come to share had just settled Stiles over his lap when from below there came such rabble rouser that Peter sprang to his feet, to growl and defeat the little punk ass that dared interrupt their sexy times. Stiles fell on his ass as Peter rushed down the hall, Stiles spitting out curses and half-finished blurbs, swearing to the heavens he would get his just deserts.

Out into the snow, Peter did go, plotting vengeance and getting very cold. And a jolly fucker with a scythe and the intention to slay stood on his lawn. He called to his deer and shouted their names.

"Now, Bitches, now, Dinner! Now Jackers and Flappers! On Licker, on Kinkers! On Jizzers and on Lippers! Pin him down," the bastard did call. "Go my darlings and kill them all."

"Are you kidding me?" Stiles demanded, standing just behind the wall. "Peter, could you hurry up before my balls fall off?"

The deer rush forward, eyes flashing and snorting, hoping for fear, only be met by teeth, claws, and one horny werewolf prepared to fight them all. Fur went flying, as did a couple of feet. The deer were all dying, Peter was quite terrifying. The corpses piled high, turning the snow from white to a dirty gray, the blood from the creatures not human like in anyway. Until at last, only one remained.

With a laugh, Stiles did declare, "bud, you're shut out of luck."

"Not quite, you little fuck," St. Dickens retorted. "I still have a trick up my sleeve."

As it so happens, the man had a plan. He was a hunter with history and the supernatural wasn't a mystery. From his jacket he pulled a flower, still in full bloom. Purple and green, the gleamed in the light of the moon. Wolfsbane, they saw, he had brought to the fight.

Stiles exclaimed, "dude, it's the night before Christmas. Don't you have a life?"

"I had one," the ruby faced man supposed. "Before my wife became a hoe."

"Stiles," Peter sighed. "The man does have a knife."

"I know," Stiles rolled his eyes. "But he stopped the sexy times."

"Stiles, go back inside."

"Excuse me, Daddy," Stiles sassed in return. "But you have yet to earn that tone of complacency."

"I am standing right here!" The Santa like man, shouted near tears.

His plans were spiraling out of control, his upper hand going down the drainage hole. For a moment, he thought, perhaps, just perhaps, he was being an ass. But, alas, spite and fine wine drove him on, giving him the urge to smite.

"Does it look like I care?" Stiles crossed his arms against the cold. He just waited for the rest to unfold.

They spoke not a word, launching across forward and toppling down into the snow. Santa thrashed and Peter slashed. Sharp edges torn and ripped, clothes and skin splitting under the tips. The winter wind crept in, seeping out warmth and getting to the boners. With a snap, St. Dickens went down. Peter let out a great howl, bellowing his victory into the hills.

"Ugh, do you have to be so a macho man wolf-" Stiles let out a yelp, his feet swept from the porch.

Away they went, kicking the door shut. Bodies on the lawn could wait until dawn. Through the living room they went, up the stairs they climbed. The hall they left behind, snow flakes falling on carpets and rugs. Stiles hugged himself close. There was no reason to resist, the heat welcoming and sweet. They had never been one for being discreet.

"Take me, I'm yours," Stiles dared to cry, throwing his arms around Peter's neck, pretending to swoon and not giving a heck.

"Stiles, is that the way you address me at night?" Peter carried him into the room. Stiles was dumped on the bed, sprawling under Peter's sight.

"Yes, Daddy, please." Stiles pouted his lips and attempted to plead. His eyes weren't on Peter, but on his crotch. "Give it to me."

Peter, still riding the alpha male high, could get behind that, if just for the time. There was something he wanted more than a perfect boy. Stiles was tempting, his ass a blessing. He could let it slide, just this one time.

"Roll over, baby boy." Peter ordered. "And get to your knees."

"Bossy, aren't we?" Stiles did as he was told. Off went his shirt and off came his pants. Pieces by piece, he was stripped. His skin laid bare, from his toes to his tips. He wiggled and squirmed, getting all warm.

"Stiles," Peter warned.

Stiles went still, ass in the air. Peter traced his fingers down his spine, delighted to find Stiles shiver and arch, trying his best to be lean into the touch. Peter leaned down, licking a stripe from hip to neck. Spit glistened on skin, pale as the moon, soft to the touch.

Peter pressed his face into Stiles' neck, breathing deep, catching a scent. He nibbled and kissed, teeth soft but aching. He wanted to bite, but that would be the end. Stiles would throw a fit. Instead he reached down, tracing a curve. He found Stiles' hole, rubbing it softly.

The lube was on the table, just to the side. Stiles hooked in hand, passing it back. It wad icy to the touch and took a moment to warm. Then Peter rubbed patterns old and new, waiting for Stiles to relax and push back. He sunk a finger in, listening to Stiles swear and demand.

"Hurry up. Please, hurry up."

"I set the pace, or have you forgot?" Peter asked, slowing down. He teased a second finger, but was willing to wait.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. Please, give me all you want."

Peter nodded and let go. A second finger went, stretching the hole. They wiggled and twisted, turning Stiles pliant and silent. He babbled and begged, words without breath. His lips gave them form as he shifted and needed, rocking back into Peter, offering all he had. Peter landed a third, kissing his neck.

"Daddy, fuck me," Stiles finally gasped. "Give me the frik frak, tally wack."

And away Peter went, replacing his fingers with his dick. In he eased, giving time to adjust. He was filled with beautiful, Christmas Eve lust. He thrust and he rocked, giving Stiles his cock. Stiles returned the motion with vigor and virility, meeting Peter and pulling away, panting all the way.

The climax came fast, surprisingly so. Stiles gave a gasp, the feeling reaching even his toes. Come splattered the spread, his chest, his cheek. His arms gave and he collapsed in a heap. Peter cradled him down, not stopping his pace. He was close and craving, just a few moments away.

Peter gripped tight, fingers digging into Stiles' thighs. A few thrusts and he was done. shooting his load. He buried deep, closing his eyes. He rolled to the side, Stiles in tow. He pulled him in close. He cuddled him tightly, coming down from the high.

Stiles, sleepy and satisfied, curled up. With a yawn he muttered, "Good fuckings to all, and to all smutty dreams."


End file.
